


White Snow Red

by KaelsMiscellany



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Gifts, M/M, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Peter is a ridiculous shit, just saying, kind of cracky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 15:09:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8805673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelsMiscellany/pseuds/KaelsMiscellany
Summary: Lydia and Jordan apparently have a secret Santa. A secret Santa with expensive tastes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So guess who's finally posting the fic she started writing two years ago and finished last year?
> 
> ...yep, that'd be me...
> 
> Title comes from "White Winter Hymnal" by Fleet Foxes

When Jordan came into work on December 1st, he found a long, wrapped package waiting on his desk. Not seeing a card of any sort he approached it carefully, leaning in slightly to see if he could hear anything; if he were at any station other than Beacon Hills, his co-workers probably would have laughed at the caution, but  this station had seen a mass killing and a bombing all in the past two years, so caution was the norm.

Not hearing anything, but Jordan knew well enough that not all bombs had moving parts, he walked away and went into the security booth; the camera in the bullpen probably caught whomever his mystery gift giver was.

Indeed it had around midnight, though not very well; whomever had left the gift, from what he could tell from the video it was most likely a man, who clearly knew about the camera and had made great pains to not ever face it, or even give his profile, Meaning Jordan found himself still mostly in the dark about who and why someone had left a gift on his desk. Possibly most disturbing of all: the man hadn't even set off any of the alarms at the station.

The fact the gift had appeared hours ago probably meant it wasn't a bomb, though that didn't discount any other sort of injury-inducing weapon. But he couldn't really put off opening it anymore. Being one of the first deputies to arrive meant there wouldn't be much in the way of human injury at least.

So tensely, primed to jump away at any second—even though it was highly likely he'd survive any sort of blast—he started peeling away the bright Christmas wrapping.

The box under the paper clearly had Macy's name and logo blazoned across the front, which didn't really easy any of the tension in him. Heart pounding he slipped his fingers between the two parts of the box and started lifting the lid off. Squeezing his eyes shut he completely removed the lid.

He didn't open them until a few seconds later when nothing in the way of explosions happened.

Simple white tissue paper, mostly obscuring something dark colored underneath greeted his gaze. While most of him relaxed, he still felt a little tense as he started unfolding the white paper to see what was underneath.

He promptly stared and blinked at the dark red scarf, gloves, and hat resting innocuously in the box. What the...

Since the cold had really set in he'd been meaning to buy each of the things sitting there; in fact he'd complained to Michaelson about it just last night as they'd been patrolling.

Tentatively he reached out and picked up each, they were soft, and he'd easily bet they would keep him nice and warm. His vague hope that there was a note or something like it in the bottom of the box was dashed, only more tissue paper.

He found it made him even more curious to know who this mystery gift giving man was.

-

When Lydia came down for breakfast she drew up a little short when she saw a wrapped present sitting on the counter. “Mom?” She called out.

Her mother was slipping on her earrings as she stepped back into the kitchen, “yes dear? Oh, that's for you, or at least that's what the note said. I found it sitting out on the porch this morning.”

“Note?” She frowned warily at the box.

“Yes, right here.” Mom stepped over to the present and picked up a small piece of cardstock.

Quickly Lydia went over to her mom and plucked the card right out of her hand. Whomever had given the gift—highly unlikely that the person giving the gift and the card were two different people—hadn't bothered to write her name, instead it had been typed. Someone worried about her recognizing their handwriting maybe?

Which left Lydia feeling highly suspicious of the 'gift'. She found herself narrowing her eyes at it, like that would be enough for it to start speaking and spill its secrets.

“Well aren't you going to open it?” Her mom's question startled her a little.

She didn't bother answering, instead taking the final steps to the box and efficiently removing the winter-themed paper. The Macy's box within threw her for a loop, though she moved past it quickly enough and lifted the lid as quickly as possible. Negligently she tossed the lid aside as well as the white tissue paper.

Drawing up short when she saw the delicate looking, fog colored scarf within.

“Well, well, someone must really like you?”

Turning slightly she stared at her mother. “What?”

Her mom went over to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. “I saw that scarf the other day when I was out shopping, the price tag was enough to make me think twice about getting it.”

Lydia returned her scrutiny to the scarf, reaching out slowly and picking it up. Despite it's airy look it had a good solid weight to it, or at least as much of one as a scarf could have, and it felt infinitely soft to the touch. And it was the perfect color to go with almost all of her winter clothes; which cut the possible list of givers by about half, she might like her friends but most of them couldn't color coordinate for shit.

As she unfolded it to put it on she realized it was an infinity scarf, meaning whomever gave it knew her scarf preferences. She wasn't sure if she found that creepy or not.

-

The next day there was yet another gift on his desk, this one a slim white envelope. Taking off his new gloves, he'd been right they'd kept him nice and toasty warm, he picked it up. This time he didn't bother with being cautious, just tore it open.

A gift card dropped out. That is was to the most popular coffee shop in town didn't surprise him, what did surprise him was the fact it was for a 100 dollars. Which was a lot of coffee considering the most expensive thing he usually got was an americano.

He sat at his desk and just stared at the card, because while the first gift could have been written off as some weird gift from everyone at the station—he complained often enough about being cold—this one not so much.

As he turned the card over in his hands he found himself even more desperately curious as to who exactly the mystery gift giver was.

-

This time there was only an envelope, and she tore it open without ceremony. A Beacon Brewers gift card dropped to the counter, she scooped it up and scrutinized it with narrow eyes, like it could somehow tell her who bought it; then again she didn't think many people bought 100 dollar gift cards to coffee shops.

She could probably convince a barista to spill, or at least browbeat them into submission. “Mom, I'm headed out!”

She wanted a cup of good tea and some answers.

-

As expected, another wrapped gift waited for him the next morning. It had started to become a strange mix of boring and nerve-wracking, because seriously who the hell was doing this?

He tore the brightly colored paper off quickly, frowning a little at the small black box inside. Just to get it over with he flipped the clamshell lid open.

Then promptly started gaping at the watch inside. It was understated, but clearly very expensive, the face blue and silver, with a moon phases dial at the six, the band some sort of black leather. Picking up the box he squinted at the brand name on the dial, it was a little hard to make out, and it wasn't a name he recognizing.

Waking up his computer he typed the name, or what he thought was the name, into Google.

_ Did you mean H. Moser & Cie? _ He didn't know, did he?

He clicked it anyways, and after a quick browse through their site he now knew it was the right brand. Expensive enough that they didn't list prices on their site. Going back to Google he scrolled down a little until he saw a site that had 'compare' in the description.

Clicking on it his eyes started bugging a little at the prices, none of the watches he was seeing were his, but there weren't many under $10,000. He kept scrolling until he found one that looked like his watch, and gaped at the price, $25,000 for a used one?!

Clearly in a masochistic impulse he kept scrolling.

There was his watch again...

He blinked and noticed the sheriff standing over him; somehow he'd ended up on the ground. “Parrish, you alright?”

“46,000...new.” He squeaked from his current position on the floor.

The sheriff looked at him for a moment, then shook his head. “Do I want to know?”

-

With gusto Lydia tore into her new gift, freezing when she saw the pale blue box with crisp black lettering within. Clutching it to her chest she raced up to her room, no way in hell was she letting her mother see this.

Who the fuck do I know that could afford Tiffiany's? Sure, Jackson could, but they were firmly in the 'friends' category now, and she'd definitely know if he was the one sending her mystery gifts.

Other than Jackson though, the list was kind of blank. She pushed that line of thought aside impatiently, the rest of her wanting to find out what was in the box.

Setting it down on her vanity, she sat and practically yanked the lid off.

Inside was a pendent the size of her thumbnail, studded with tiny black gems—she couldn't tell what they were by looking at them though she'd have to go to Tiffany's website later—on a chain of rose gold. In a word it was stunning, and Lydia didn't even hesitate before taking it out and undoing the clasp. The chain was long enough to come to rest just above her cleavage.

For no particular reason she found herself narrowing her eyes at that. Yesterday when she'd been cajoling the barista to tell her about the gift card buyer all she'd been able to get out of the other girl was the fact it was a very charming, handsome man.

She paused for a moment before bursting into action, a hunch forming in her mind, standing she went to her closet and instinctively reached for her new scarf, only to stop herself.

If her mystery gift giver was who she thought it was, she might be saying a lot more than she meant to say if she wore both the scarf and the necklace. Then again she could handle herself against him quite well if things started to get...difficult.

So she put on the scarf, and her favorite winter coat and marched out the door.

She didn't care if she got in trouble for skipping school, she was going to camp out at Beacon Brewers until he showed his face there, and then there would be words.

-

Jordan sat in one of the overstuffed chairs at Beacon Brewers, his gaze alternating between the door, and the black watch case sitting on the table in front of him—the watch itself still firmly inside.

He took a nervous sip of his coffee and he found himself debating on whether or not to abuse police privileges and get one of the baristas to look up their sales from the day before yesterday, just so he could find out who his mystery Santa was.

Before he could convince himself that was a great idea the seasonally appropriate silver bells over the door jingled as a familiar face walked in.

His eyes were glued to Lydia as she walked to the counter and ordered something, paying with a gift card. As she turned to look around for a seat he found himself wondering if she was his Santa; but he quickly dissuaded himself of that notion, for one she definitely wasn't tall enough, nor were her shoulders all that broad, and the person in the video most definitely hadn't been wearing heels.

She smiled when she saw him and started approaching. The final nail in the coffin was that he'd spent enough time around Lydia trying to figure out what he was—coming to the conclusion that whatever species he was the Argent's had never come across it—that he knew the way she moved well; and she and Santa didn't move the same way at all.

“Mind if I join you?” Lydia's voice pulled him back into the real world and he found himself nodding as she took off her gray scarf, which she quickly laid one the arm of the chair across from him.

Despite his nod he found himself growing a little suspicious. “Shouldn't you be in school?” A quick glance at the clock on the wall told him that, yes, she should.

She flushed, but before she could come up with an explanation one of the barista's voices rang out: “Pot of Earl Grey.” Without giving him a second glance she went to go collect her pot, easily balancing the pot and mug on the plate provided.

Said plate got set next to the watch case before she took her seat. Her eyes studied the box as she poured tea into her mug. “What's that?”

Now he was the one flushing. “A...gift.” Though he found himself a little hesitant in calling it that.

“Can I see?” At his nod she leaned forward, a pretty black pendant on a pinkish-gold chain slipping out from her coat as she picked it up in her delicate fingers. He found himself taking an awkward sip at that, while she might be eighteen now he still felt a little embarrassed every time her and her fingers appeared in his wet dreams.

She finally opened the box and he braced himself for her reaction, knowing Lydia she'd know exactly what sort of watch that was.

Indeed, seconds after she laid eyes on it she gaped at him, “someone bought you a H. Moser & Cie watch?”

He slumped further into his set, giving an embarrassed nod. “Yeah, though I can't imagine who, I mean, that watch, even if it's used, costs more than half my yearly salary.” No one he knew would ever just drop that much on a gift for him.

“Is this the first gift you've gotten?” Lydia asked as she closed the case, setting it back on the table and picking up her own mug.

“No,” he shook his head, “first it was these,” he gestured at the hat, scarf, and gloves tucked under a leg. “Then yesterday a gift card here, then this morning the watch.”

Lydia raised her mug to her lips, sipped, then gave a soft 'shit' as the still too hot liquid hit her tongue, with shaky hands she put her mug back on the table, the tea inside nearly sloshing over the rim; and Jordan realized this was the most nervous he'd ever seen her. “Lydia?”

She shook her head and took a deep breath. “Two days ago I got this,” she gestured at the scarf. “The other day I got a gift card, this morning I got this,” her thumb hooked under the chain of her pendent, bringing it back into the light.

“Oh,” He, he didn't know if he wanted to fully think through the implications of all that. “Do, do you know who?”

Her eyes narrowed at nothing in particular. “I've got an idea.” She reached into her coat and pulled out her phone sending off a brief text. “And if I'm right he's got some explaining to do.”

-

_ Get your ass over to Beacon Brewers, now. _

While most would think twice about courting the anger of one Peter Hale, Lydia knew she could best him.

“What do you mean?”

She blinked for a moment at Jordan's question, then did her best to get a hold of herself. “I get why he's sending me gifts, kind of.” She and Peter had a...relationship of a sorts. But Jordan? That blew her mind a little, and not just with the mental image of what sex between the two of them might be like—so sue her. “But you? That's completely out of left field.”

“Thanks? I think. Though that's the strangest compliment I've ever gotten.” He took a sip from his mug.

Feeling a lot more confident than she had a few moments ago she picked her own mug back up and took a slower sip. “Oh, it's a compliment in that he completely managed to surprise me with his interest in you.”

“Are you going to tell me who it is now? Or am I just going to have to wait for 'him' to arrive?” Jordan actually sounded a little impatient, a first.

His question started up a war in her, because she should tell him it might be Peter, all the better for them to coordinate their confrontation; on the other hand telling him who their mystery gift giver was might scare him away...which she knows was a complete and utter lie, Jordan didn't run away from anything. The decision though was taken out of her hands when the bells above the door jingled and one Peter Hale strode in and headed straight for them, not even bothering with making it look like he was here for anything other than them. “Lydia and Deputy Parrish, what a surprise seeing you here.”

Lydia rolled her eyes; the fact that he got there five minutes after she texted him not suspicious, at all. “Really Peter? Acting like you came here on your own? Please. At least have the decency to admit not everything's your idea.”

He clicked his tongue, but that chastisement was ruined by a curl of a smile, “no need to be so rude. Especially since you're the one who invited me.”

Jordan glanced rapidly from her, to Peter, back to her. “Him?” She didn't know Jordan could squeak. “But, what, why?”

Peter looked like he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes as he took a few steps back and kidnapped a chair from a nearby table, he spun it neatly and straddled, it his arms wrap around the back, hands gripping the top. “Why not? If it makes you sleep better at night you can consider them apologies.” The problem with Peter was it was hard to tell when he was telling the truth.

Jordan gaped. “A 45,000 dollar watch is an apology?”

Peter shrugged, “if you want it to be. Werewolves generally keep to weirguild, and I owe both to you, in one fashion or another,” his gaze cut to her. “Though if you choose believe that then Lydia will be getting many more gifts than you Jordan.”

Which couldn't be Peter's only game, the day Peter only had one plot would be the day she ate her favorite dress. “If it were weirguild Peter, then why hide it?”

He wiggled his eyebrows like a brat. “Because it's more fun that way.” The flat look he gave her clearly conveyed that she should have known that. “Because would you have accepted them if you knew they were from me from the get go?”

Both she and Jordan found their respective drinks a whole lot more interesting all of the sudden. She didn't know about Jordan, but the answer for her probably would be 'no', Peter being nice was the opposite of what she expected of him; he was going against type and she could only find it disconcerting.

Poor Jordan looked even more confused than she did. It didn't help that Peter reached out and poked him in the arm. “Buy me some tea.”

Jordan did a good fish impression. “What?”

Peter rolled his eyes again, though his supposed expression of annoyance was ruined by another twitching smile. “If this keeps up we're going to be here awhile and I would like something to drink.” Outrageously he batted his eyelashes.

Lydia snorted. “Buy it yourself Peter, considering how much you probably dropped on that watch,” she gestured at the box on the table. “You're not exactly strapped for cash.”

He clearly hadn't noticed the box before and spent about a second blinking at it, before turning to Jordan again. “Did you not like it? I could return it and get a different one. Though none of the others I looked at really seemed to match your style.” Then to her. “And buying my own drink isn't the point sweetheart.”

At the moment Jordan looked like he'd take any excuse to leave, “what kind?”

“Ceylon or Assam, please.”

Jordan got up and practically dashed over to the counter. While Lydia set her drink down with more force than she'd intended to, wincing a little as the tea hit sloshed over again and landed on her hand. "I'm not sure what your game is this time Peter,” she hissed. “But it's going to stop right fucking now you understand? You're right about you owing me big time, but what the fuck did you do to Jordan that deserved a watch costing tens of thousands of dollars as reparation?”

What she got in response was an all too serious stare from Peter. “Who said this was a game sweetheart?”

If she started reprising Jordan's fish act Peter was kind enough not to point it out. Her mind scrambled, so it wasn't a game, but he wanted them to think it was? Or he just wasn't dissuading them from that notion. She held back the urge to rub at her temples; this sort of thinking and behaving was the reason no one liked Peter, they just couldn't understand him.

“Peter...” she started, but Jordan returned, mug of tea in his hands, before she could continue. At least Jordan looked more collected than before his little sojourn.

Pettily Jordan set the mug on the opposite side of the table from Peter, “there.”

Once again Peter's expression was ruined by a barely concealed smile, whatever happened Peter at least seemed to be enjoying himself. “Thank you deputy.”

“What if we don't want to consider them apologies?” Jordan's question surprised even her, especially when it came out of the blue like that.

-

Jordan didn't know what sort of response his question would get him, but it felt like the right question to ask, or at least that was what he'd convinced himself while waiting for Peter's tea.

Peter stood, went over to his mug and pulled out the strainer, letting all the tea stream out before setting it on the plate Lydia had carried her own tea on. She huffed, but didn't otherwise respond. Hands wrapped firmly around the mug, it must be nice not to be so affected by higher temperatures, Peter took his seat again. “Well what do you want to consider them as?”

Even though he met Jordan's gaze head on, Peter was still dodging the question. Jordan knew he could press, force Peter to actually commit to an answer, or he could not answer himself and not give Peter a good out.

Lydia, in her usual way, bypassed the issue completely. “I think you're flirting with us.”

Which startled Jordan, but from Peter's controlled non-response he could tell Lydia was probably a little right. But Peter Hale, flirting with him? Lydia was right, that was completely out of left field. The few encounters they'd had were vaguely antagonistic at best, and in one case an actual fist fight, though that had been mostly Jordan's fault—well and the rage demon's.

Nonchalantly Peter sipped his tea. “And what makes you think that sweetheart?” His tone might have implied only vague interest, but his body language told Jordan otherwise.

“Oh, please Peter. You're too gauche to leave dead animals on our doorsteps. And how else could you prove that you can provide for us besides outrageously expensive gifts?”

It took Jordan a few more seconds to connect the same dots. Oh, oh. Were _ wolf _ . On the tail of that realization came an odd flush, Peter Hale, creeper extraordinaire, was interested in him and Lydia; at the same time? That broke his brain a little.

Peter just took another sip of his tea; and Jordan started finding himself a little curious as to what Peter was getting off them. “Well if your hypothesis is correct, what are you going to do about it?”

For a brief second Lydia looked like she might upend her tea on Peter's head. “Jesus fucking Christ Peter, are you really that afraid of how we'll react if you actually commit to an answer?” Peter bared his teeth and snarled, which she ignored as she set her tea down, got up, and took the few steps between her and Peter. “Give me a straight answer and I, at least, might surprise you.”

Which actually seemed to take Peter aback. He straightened in his seat and hesitated for only a second. “Alright, yes. I gave you the gifts to prove myself. I gave them anonymously to see how quickly you would figure out it was me.” It didn't surprise Jordan that Peter had some trust issues.

From the angle he was at Jordan can only see a little of Lydia's soft smile, “see, that wasn't so bad was it?” Then in the big shocker of the morning, well second—who'd've thunk Peter had a thing for him?, she leaned in and kissed Peter.

-

Peter couldn't help the happy rumble in his chest when Lydia's lips descended on his. Finally, he opened his mouth and pressed his tongue against her lips. She parted them obligingly, and it was a wonderful sort of heaven, even if the bergamot from her tea was a bit too much; Jordan joining in would have made it even better, never mind the show they'd probably give the barista, and the few remaining customers if that happened.

They got into it enough that he half expected someone to tell them to get a room, though if someone had planned on saying it, they didn't really get the chance. He jerked away from her with an angry hiss, grimacing and feeling very annoyed that he'd spilled his tea down his shirt. “Fuck.”

Lydia giggled, a sound he hoped she'd make in other situations other than him making a fool of himself, while Jordan's eyes glittered a little—though don't think he didn't notice the spike of arousal from the other man from watching the two of them kiss. “So glad my fumbling amuses you,” he said dryly.

Standing he quickly set his mug down and pulling his shirt away from his chest, least of all to make sure none of it got on his jeans, he retreated to the bathroom.

Not smelling anyone else there, not that he wouldn't have minded, he stripped his shirt off and tossed it into the sink. Instead of moving to turn the faucet on he rested his hands on the rim and looked at himself in the mirror.

Internally his wolf howled his pleasure, one down one to go. Closing his eyes he leaned forward until his forehead rested against the glass, and made himself take deep breaths. Werewolves didn't have 'true' mates, just like humans didn't have soulmates, but they did tended to look for traits humans would usually ignore: how they listened to their instincts, how well they controlled situations, keeping a cool head, intelligence.

And for Peter, Lydia and Jordan had all of those in spades. If he had to settle with only one of them he would, though a part of him would always mourn the loss. He'd never really questioned his preference for multiple partners, like he'd never really questioned his wolf's needs and wants; denying either seemed pointless and the height of self-flagellation.

With a sigh he pulled away from the mirror and turned on the sink faucet, thoroughly soaking his shirt. Turning off the faucet he squeezed all the water he could out before turning and going to the hand blowdryer, his lips twitching a little in amusement.

Turning it on he thrust a part of his shirt under it and resigned himself to spending some time like this; if there were only Jordan and Lydia there he would have gladly walked out there with a wet shirt, or even no shirt at all, but while he liked being the center of attention there were times when he'd rather not have the focus of the world on him.

The door opened with a squeak of hinges, he could only see it out of the corner of his eye but the man walking in registered as familiar, scent hitting him only a second later: sulfur and the contradiction of bright sparking green of cardamom above it. Jordan?

He turned, and indeed it was Jordan, with a very determined look on his face. “I'd like to hope you had a reason to follow me in here deputy?” Luckily it wasn't much of a fight to keep his tone nonchalant.

Jordan didn't respond, well at least vocally. He did however march right into Peter's space and, leaning down a little, kissed him like he was a starving man and Peter food.

Gladly Peter let his shirt drop to the floor, he could work with this. He deepened the kiss, letting himself be a little rougher with Jordan than he had been with Lydia—who was the sort of woman you started gently with. Despite the fact Jordan had an inch or so on him, it was more than easy to turn the both of them around.

He ate the gasp Jordan gave as his back hit the wall greedily; pushing himself right into Jordan's space and thrusting a thigh in between Jordan's. At least Jordan didn't seem to mind the manhandling, arching more into their kiss.

Inside him his wolf was so happy Peter wondered if he'd wolf out.

This go around the only reason they stopped was lack of oxygen. Jordan's chest heaved as he sucked in air, there was a lovely red flush creeping up his neck and Peter couldn't resist, leaning it and nibbling.

“Christ,” Jordan moaned, his hands diving into Peter's hair and from the way he started rubbing against Peter's thigh he could guess Jordan was trying to get himself off.

And while this was the most fun he'd had in ages, he reluctantly pulled away; he'd rather not get thrown out of his favorite coffee shop for life because he tried to have sex in their bathroom. Despite that he couldn't pull away entirely: resting his head against Jordan's shoulder and breathing their mingling scents. “I wasn't lying about the watch you know, I'll get you a different one if you don't like that one.”

Jordan sighed, his hands in Peter's hair start stroking. “It's not the watch Peter, it's the fact you spent more money than I see in a year on it. And it's definitely more than what you spent on Lydia this time, we checked, it's throwing me for a loop.”

Peter didn't know how best to explain without sounding like a crazy human; Lydia knew him through and through, he didn't need to prove his abilities so much as prove that he cared, but with Jordan? The two of them didn't know each other as well, Jordan didn't know that Peter didn't care about money so long as they were happy. “I,” he leaned a little into Jordan's stroking, enjoying the feeling. “You don't know me as well.” He hoped Jordan understood that well enough.

The hands in his hair shifted a little, scratching just behind his ear and...Peter was a little ashamed to admit he melted a little. Through hooded eyes Peter could see a smile twitch at Jordan's lips. “You know when Scott and Stiles first told me all about you I never even thought you'd be this ridiculous when trying to ask someone out.”

He'd roll his eyes if he could've worked up the urge. “Clearly you've never watched any nature documentaries about wolves.” Reluctantly he pulled away completely and scooped up his shirt again, once more turning on the hand dryer and sticking it in the stream of air.

“Should I start?” If anything Jordan’s curiosity was to be rewarded, in Peter’s mind if you stopped asking questions you quickly grew uninteresting. “And I guess it would be pointless to offer you my jacket.”

That last part wasn’t exactly a question, but Peter nodded in agreement; while he’d love to wear Jordan’s clothes and spread his scent around he was far broader than the other man and would certainly stretch all his shirts out—he’d happily take the reverse as well however. “And only if you want, werewolves aren’t completely wolf-centric.” For one if only the Alpha pair were allowed to mate then a pack would quickly die out if the Alpha wasn’t also biting more people.

A warm hand, hadn’t it been a shock to realize that Jordan ran even hotter than werewolves, settled between his shoulderblades. “Alright, I guess if I really want to know the best way to embarrass you I can just ask Derek,” the teasing note in Jordan’s voice pleased Peter, even if the words themselves didn’t.

Even though Jordan couldn’t really see it all that well Peter playfully snapped his teeth. “I might gag you before you get the chance.” The problem was that Derek found Peter’s predicament hilarious, and he would happily help Jordan and Lydia find the best ways to embarrass Peter in the bounds of etiquette and courtship. No, that was to be avoided at all costs; Peter might be more than willing to make a fool of himself in front of them, but only because they mattered, and probably wouldn’t tell anyone for a few years at least; but everyone else? No, Peter didn’t want to show that sort of weakness just yet.

“You’ll just have to catch me first,” Jordan replied easily, apparently the idea of being gagged hardly phasing him—except for the spike of cardamom in his scent, which Peter was 98% certain was arousal—the hand left and seconds later Peter heard the door.

Which meant he was alone once more, with more force than necessary he whacked the button for the hand dryer again intent on getting as much of his shirt dry as he could so he could get out there now.

Finally he gave up and pulled his shirt back on, hoping time and body heat would dry the rest, and left the bathroom. At a glance he saw that Lydia and Jordan weren’t where they were previously; but a quick sniff and a more interested perusal found them on a couch. Their three beverages on a coffee table and Lydia and Jordan themselves pressed hip to hip, leaving plenty of open space.

Nonchalantly Peter strode over, artlessly falling into the empty space, his own hip pressing against Lydia’s. “Hello,” he didn’t sound as casual as he’d like.

He could easily see Lydia and Jordan exchange glances out of the corners of their eyes; Lydia parted her legs slightly, so that each one was fully aligned with Jordan’s and Peter’s—her ankles hooking around calves—while Jordan himself without any sort of subtly did the arm around the back of the couch move, hand once again pressing between Peter’s shoulder blades.

“So,”  Lydia spoke as if they weren’t doing the public version cuddling. “Does this mean we can get you presents too? Because if so mine might all be furniture. Honestly I’d think you’d have better taste than that.” Her attempt to chastise fell short however—still he loved it.

Instead of going over and poaching on Jordan’s space he went ‘under’, eliciting a wonderful squeak of surprise from Lydia when his hand wiggled behind her back. “You know full well I don’t live in Derek’s apartment Lydia,” the same complex sure, because then he didn’t have to worry about paying rent and could spend his money on important things; but he’d much rather not live with Derek unless he had to, they’d regained much of their pre-fire relationship, but there was too much bad history between them now to go fully back to it.

“My own apartment is well decorated,” if perhaps a little bare—not as much as Derek’s though. 

She gave a haughty sniff. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Because he couldn’t help himself, the image of Lydia organizing his den to be exactly what she wanted too much, he turned his head and buried his face in her neck. “Don’t say that, not here.” 

He’d rather not admit why, not at this tentative stage. But quietly he filed away the hoped for future memory, them knowing and with gentle hands taking him to bed, whispering all the while about how they were going to make that apartment home, how they were going to build a family there; breaking him down and apart, him trusting them to put him back together, possibly more right than before.

“You’re blushing,” Jordan’s hand pressed more firmly against Peter’s back as he murmured the words. Lydia leaned back slightly and before Peter knew it, Jordan’s face was pressed into the crook of his neck.

“I’m not blushing,” he muttered into Lydia’s shoulder. “I’m overheating.”

Jordan snorted, then made a sort of sniffing-snuffling sound. “You smell good, like rain and pine needles.”

Peter was certain if he wasn’t blushing before he was now, “and you need to work on your scenting technique, that was far too obvious.”

“Yes, I was totally trying to hide what I was doing,” Jordan replied drily.

“Boys,” Lydia’s fond voice filled the feeling smaller every moment space. “I’m all for ‘who’s got the bigger dick’ but not in public if you please. I have a reputation to maintain.”

In retaliation he and Jordan move in, fingers unerringly finding her ticklish spots.

They got tossed out of Beacon Brewers anyways, but only for a week. And really Peter was too happy to care.

**Author's Note:**

> [Lydia's necklace](http://tinyurl.com/ny6m6sg) and [Jordan's watch](http://www.h-moser.com/en/collection/endeavour-perpetual-moon-1348-0300-blue-fume) for the interested (and at least the last time I checked the prices on that watch are accurate...I mean jfc Peter)


End file.
